Hex Academy
by yoursexyandyouknowit15
Summary: The story introduces Artemis 'Artie' Crock, a witch who is ordered to attend school at Hex Academy after a series of unfortunate spells that threaten to reveal the Prodigium world to the general human population. Artie finds herself at odds with Wally, a warlock with a bad reputation. She becomes friends with her vampire roommate, Zatanna 'Tanna' Zatara, despite the fact that...
1. Chapter 1

Megan Morris was crying in the bathroom. Again. I knew it was her because in the three months I'd been going to Happy Harbor High, I'd already seen Megan crying in the bathroom twice. She had a really distinctive sob; high and breathy like a little kid's, even though Megan was eighteen, two years older than me.

I'd left her alone before, figuring that it was every girl's right to cry in a public bathroom from time to time.

But tonight was prom night, and there was something really sad about sobbing in formal wear. Besides, I'd developed a soft spot for Megan.

There was a girl just like her at every school I'd ever been to (nineteen and counting). And while I may have been a weirdo, people weren't mean to me; they mostly just ignored me. Megan, on the other hand was the class punching bag. For her school had been nothing but a constant parade of stolen lunch money and nasty remarks.

I peeked under the stall door and saw a pair of feet in strappy yellow sandals. "Megan?" I called, rapping softly on the door. "What's wrong?"

She opened the door and looked up at me with sad bloodshot eyes. "What's wrong? Well, let's see Artemis, it's prom night of my senior year and do you see a date anywhere near me?"

"Um . . .no. But you are in the ladies' room, so I thought-"

"What?" she asked as she stood up and wiped her nose with a huge wad of toilet paper. "That my date's out there waiting for me?" She snorted. "Please. I lied to my uncle and said I had a date. So he bought me this dress"-she slapped at the yellow taffeta like it was a bug she was trying to kill- "and I told him my date was meeting me here, so he dropped me off. I just . . . I couldn't tell him I didn't get invited to my senior prom. It would have broken his heart." She rolled her eyes. "How pathetic is that?"

"It's not that pathetic," I said. "Lots of girls come to prom alone."

She glared at me. "Do you have a date?"

I did have a date. Sure, it was Cameron Mahkent, who might have been the only person at Happy Harbor High less popular than I was, but it was still a date. And my mom had been so excited that someone had asked me. She saw it as my finally making an attempt at Fitting In.

Fitting In was really important to my mom.

I watched Megan standing there in her yellow dress, wiping her nose, and before I could stop myself, I said something totally stupid: "I can help."

Megan looked up at me through puffy eyes. "How?"

I looped my arm through hers, pulling her to her feet.

"We have to go outside."

We made our way out of the bathroom and through the crowded gym. Megan seemed wary as I led her through the big double doors and into the parking lot.

"If this is some sort of prank, I have pepper spray in my purse," she said, holding her little yellow clutch close to her chest.

"Relax." I looked around to make sure the parking lot was deserted.

Even though it was late April, there was still a chill in the air, and both of us shivered in our dresses. "Okay," I said, turning back to her. "If you could have anyone as your prom date, who would it be?"

"Are you trying to torture me?" she asked.

"Just answer the question."

Staring at her yellow shoes, she mumbled, "Connor Kent?"

I wasn't surprised. SGA president, football captain, all-around hottie . . . Connor Kent was the guy almost any girl would pick to be her prom date. Mmmm . . . that boy.

"Okay, then. Connor it is," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. Lifting my hands to the sky, I closed my eyes and pictured Megan in Connor's arms, her in bright yellow dress, him in a tux. After just a few seconds of focusing on that image, I started to feel a slight tremor under my feet and a feeling like water rushing all the way up to my outspread hands. My hair started to float from my shoulders, and then I heard Megan gasp.

When I opened my eyes, I saw exactly what I'd hoped. Overhead, a huge dark cloud was swirling, sparks of purplish light flashing inside of it. I kept concentrating, and as I did, the cloud swirled faster until it was a perfect circle with a hole in the center.

The Magic Doughnut, as I'd dubbed it the first time I'd created one on my twelfth birthday.

Megan cowered between two cars, her arms raised over her head. But it was to late to stop.

The hole in the center of the cloud filled with bright green light. Focusing on that light and the image of Connor and Megan, I flexed my fingers and watched as a bolt of green lightning shot out of the cloud and raced across the sky. It disappeared behind some trees.

The cloud vanished, and Megan stood up on shaky legs.

"W-what was that?" She turned to me, wide-eyed. "Are you like a witch or something?"

I shrugged, still feeling pleasantly buzzed by the power I'd just unleashed. Magic drunk, Mom always calls it. "It was nothing," I said. "Now let's go inside."

Cameron was hanging out by the punch table when I came back inside.

"What was that about?" he asked, nodding toward Megan. She looked dazed as she stood on tiptoes, scanning the dance floor.

"Oh, she just needed some air," I said, picking up a glass of punch. My heart was still racing, and my hands were shaking.

"Cool," Cameron said, bouncing his head in time with the music. "Wanna dance?"

Before I could answer, Megan ran up and grabbed my arm. "He's not even here," she said. "Didn't that . . . that thing you did make him my prom date?"

"Shhh! Yes it did, but you'll have to be patient. As soon as Connor gets here, he'll find you, trust me."

We didn't have to wait long.

Cameron and I were only halfway through our first dance when a huge crash echoed through the gym.

There was a rapid succession of loud pops, almost like gunshots, that sent kids screaming and diving under the refreshment table. I watched the punch bowl plummet to the floor, splashing red liquid everywhere.

But it wasn't a gun that had made the popping sounds; it was balloons. Hundreds of them. Whatever had happened had sent the huge balloon arch swooping to the ground, I watched as one white balloon escaped the carnage and rose to the rafters of the gym.

I looked over and saw several of the teachers running for the doors. Which weren't there anymore.

That was because silver Land Rover had crashed through them.

Connor Kent staggered out of the driver's seat. He'd cut both his forehead and his hand, and was bleeding on the shiny hardwood as he bellowed, "Megan! MEGAN!"

" Holy crap," Cameron murmured.

Connor's date, Wendy Harris, scrambled out of the passenger side. She was sobbing.

"He's crazy!" she shrieked. "He was fine, and then there was this light and . . . and . . ." She broke off into more hysterics, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Megan!" Connor continued to scream, wildly searching the gym. I looked around and saw Megan hiding under one of the tables, her eyes huge.

I was careful this time, I thought. I'm better at this now!

Connor found Megan and yanked her out from under the table. "Megan!" He smiled broadly, his whole face lit up, which, what with the blood and all, was terrifying. I didn't blame Megan for screaming her head off.

One of the chaperones, Coach Icon, sprinted over to help, grabbing Connor's arm.

But Connor just turned, one hand still clutching Megan, and backhanded Coach Icon across the face. The Coach, who was six two and easily over two hundred pounds, went flying backward.

And then all hell broke lose.

People were stampeding for the doors, more teachers were swarming Connor, and Megan's screams had taken on a desperate, keening edge. Only Cameron seemed unfazed.

"Awesome!" he enthused as two girls scrambled over the Land Rover and out of the gym.

"Carrie prom!"

Connor was still holding one of Megan's hands, and by now he was on one knee. I couldn't be sure, thanks to all the screaming, but I think he was singing to her.

Megan wasn't screeching anymore, but she was fishing in her handle bag for something.

"Oh no," I groaned. I started running toward them, but I slipped and fell in the punch. Megan whipped out a small red can and sprayed the contents in Connor's face.

His song broke off in a garbled cry of pain. He dropped her hand to claw at his eyes, and Megan ran.

"It's okay, baby!" he shouted after her. "I don't need eyes to see you! I see you with the eyes of my heart, Megan! My HEART!"

Great. Not only was my spell too strong, it was also lame.

I sat in the pool of punch while the chaos I'd created raged around me. A lone white balloon bobbed by my elbow, and Mrs. Sanders, my algebra teacher, stumbled past, shouting into her cell phone, "I said Happy Harbor High! Um . . . I don't know, an ambulance? A SWAT team? Just send somebody!"

Then I heard a shriek. "It was her! Artemis Crock!"

Megan was pointing at me, her whole body shaking.

Even over all the noise, Megan's words echoed in the cavernous gym.

"She's . . . she's a witch!

I sighed. "Not again."

**I based this story off of a book I just finished reading and couldn't put down the title is "Hex Hall" by Rachel Hawkins (I own nothing!) This is totally an AU story! Please review! More reviews the more I will update the story!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Hey guys thank you so much for reviewing my story! Just wondering on ideas for the story. For those of you who have read the books, I'm kind of having trouble on deciding who Artemis's mom should be Paula/Diana and like her dad Lawrence/Oliver. – You decide! I still kind of need ideas for the three dark witches (Elodie, Anna, and Chaston). Remember if you are going to help me out on those three they have to be complete bitches :) Like I was thinking of Elodie as Linda Park.**

** And to answer mazeygrace18's comment I think Zantanna is going to be gay in the beginning and then later fall for Cal *spoiler* an older Dick Grayson (like nightwing). So those of you who like a little traught! Mostly spitfire though! Oh for those of you who are into Dick/Babs please tell me! Please vote for what characters you want changed! So review! I will hopefully be posting the next chapter later tonight! Thank you who those have all reviewed and liked my story so far!**

**`yoursexyandyouknowit15 see yah!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Well?"

I stepped out of the car and into the hot thick heat of August in Georgia.

"Awesome," I murmured, sliding my sunglasses on top of my head. Thanks to the humidity, my hair like it had tripled in size, even if it was in its usual messy ponytail. I could feel it trying to devour my sunglasses like some sort of carnivorous jungle plant.

"I always wondered what it would be like to live in somebody's mouth."

In front of me loomed Hecate Academy, which according to the brochure clutched in my sweaty hand, was "the premier reformatory institution for Prodigium adolescents."

Prodigium. Just a fancy Latin word for monsters. And that's what everyone at Hecate was.

That's what I was.

I'd already read the brochure four times on the plane from Rhode Island to Georgia, twice on the ferry ride to Graymalkin Island, just off the coast of Georgia (where I learned, Hecate had been built in 1854), and once as our rental car had rattled over the shell and gravel driveway that led from the shore to the school's parking lot. So I should have had it memorized, but I kept holding on to it, like it was my wubby or something:

The purpose of Hecate Academy is to protect and instruct shapeshifter, witch, and fae children who have risked exposure of their abilities, and therefore imperiled Prodigium society as a whole.

"I still don't see how helping one girl find a date imperiled other witches," I said squinting at my mom as I reached into the trunk for my stuff. The thought had been bugging me since the first time I'd read the brochure, but I hadn't had a chance to bring it up. Mom had spent most of the flight pretending to be asleep, probably to avoid looking at my sullen expression.

"It wasn't just that one girl, Art, and you know it. It was that boy with the broken arm in Delaware, "

_Ok that kid was a total perv_ . . .

"And that teacher you tried to make forget about a test in Arizona . . . "

"He got his memory back eventually, " I said. "Well, most of it."

Mom just sighed and tried to pull out the beat-up trunk we'd bought at The Salvation Army.

"Mom I got it."

"Your father and I both warned you that there were consequences for using your powers. I don't like this any more than you do, but at least here you'll be with . . . with other kids like you."

"You mean total screwups." I pulled my tote bag onto my shoulder.

Mom pushed her own sunglasses up and looked at me. She seemed tired and there were heavy lines around her mouth, lines I'd never seen before. My mom was almost forty, but she could usually pass for ten years younger.

"You're not a screwup, Artie." We hefted the trunk onto her chair. "You've just made some mistakes."

Had I ever. Being a witch had definitely not been as awesome as I'd hoped it would be. For one thing, I didn't get to fly around on a broomstick. (I asked my mom about that when I first came into my powers, and she said no, I had to keep riding the bus like everyone else.) I don't have spell books or a talking Cheshire cat (I'm allergic), and I wouldn't even know where to get a hold of something like eye of newt.

But I can perform magic. I've been able to ever since I was twelve, which, according to sweaty brochure, is the age all Prodigium come into their powers. Something to do with puberty, I guess.

"Besides, this is a good school," Mom said as we approached the building.

But it didn't look like a school. It looked like a cross between something out of an old horror movie and Disney World's Haunted Mansion, For starters, it was obviously almost two hundred years old. It was three stories tall, and the third story perched like the top of a wedding cake. The house may have been white once, but now it was just sort of a faded grey, almost the same color as the shell and gravel drive, which made it look less like a house and more like some sort of natural outcrop of the island.

"Huh," Mom said. We dropped the trunk, and she rolled around the side of the building. "Would you look at that?"

I followed her and immediately saw what she meant. The brochure said Hecate had made "extensive additions to the original structure" over the years. Turns out, that meant they'd lopped off the back of the house and stuck another one onto it. The grayish wood ended after sixty feet or so and gave way to pink stucco that extended all the way to the woods.

For something that had clearly been done with magic- there were no seams where the two houses met, no line of mortar- you would've thought it would have turned out a little more elegantly. Instead it looked like two houses that had been glued together by a crazy person.

A crazy person with really bad taste.

Huge oak trees in the front yard dripped with Spanish moss, shading the house. In fact, there seemed to be plants everywhere. Two ferns in dusty pots bracketed the front door, looking like big green spiders, and some sort of vine with purple flowers had taken over an entire wall. It was almost like the forest just beyond it was slowly absorbing the house.

I tugged at the hem of my brand-new Hecate Academy- issue blue plaid skirt (kilt? Some sort of bizarre skirt/kilt hybrid? A skilt?) and wondered why a school in the middle of the Deep South would have wool uniforms. Still, as I started at the school, I fought off a shiver. I wondered how anyone could ever look at this place and not suspect its students were a bunch of freaks.

"It's pretty," Mom said in her best "Let's be perky and look on the bright side" voice.

I, however, was not feeling so perky.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. For a prison."

My mom shook her head.

"Drop the insolent-teenager thing, Art. It's hardly a prison."

But that's what it felt like.

"This really is the best place for you," she said as we picked up the trunk.

"I guess," I mumbled.

It's for your own good seemed to be the mantra as far as me and Hecate were concerned. Two days after prom we'd gotten an e-mail from my dad that basically said I'd blown all my chances, and that the League was sentencing me to Hecate until my eighteenth birthday.

The league was this group of old people who made all the rules for Prodigium.

I know, a league that calls themselves "the League." So original.

Anyway, Dad worked for them, so they let him break the bad news. "Hopefully," he had said in his e-mail, "this will teach you to use your powers with considerably more discretion."

E-mail and the occasional phone call were pretty much the only contact I had with my dad. He and Mom split up before I was born. Turns out he hadn't told my mom about him being a warlock (that's the preferred term for boy witches) until they'd been together for nearly a year Mom hadn't taken the news well. She wrote him off as a nut job and ran back to her family. But then she found out she was pregnant with me, and she got a copy of _The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft_ to go along with all her baby books, just in case. By the time I was born, she was practically an expert on things that go bump in the night. It wasn't until I'd come into my powers on my twelfth birthday that she'd reluctantly opened the lines of communication with Dad. But she was still pretty frosty toward him.

In the month since my dad had told me that I was going to Hecate, I'd tried to come to terms with it. Seriously. I told myself that I'd finally be around people that were like me people that were like me, people I didn't have to hide my true self from. And I might learn some pretty sweet spells. Those were all big pros.

But as soon as Mom and I had boarded the ferry to take us out to this isolated island, I'd started to feel sick to my stomach. And trust me, it wasn't seasickness.

According to the brochure, Graymalkin Island had been selected to house Hecate because of its remote location, the better to keep it a secret. The locals just thought it was a super-exclusive boarding school.

By the time the ferry had approached the heavily forested spit of land that would be my home for the next two years, the second thoughts had majorly set it.

It seemed like most of the student body was milling around on the lawn, but only a handful of them looked new like me. They were all unloading trunks, toting suitcases. Some of them had beat-up luggage like mine, but I saw a couple of Louis Vuitton bags, too. One girl, dark-haired with a slightly crooked nose, seemed about my age, while the other kids looked younger.

I couldn't really tell what most of them were, whether they were witches and warlocks or shapeshifters. Since we all look like regular people, there was no way to tell.

The faeries, on the other hand, were very easy to spot. They were all taller than average and very dignified looking, and every one of them had straight shiny hair, in all sorts of different colors, from pale gold to bright violet.

And they had wings.

According to Mom, faeries usually used glamours to blend in with humans. It was a pretty complex spell since it involved altering the mind of everyone they met, but it meant that humans could only see the faeries as normal people instead of bright, colorful, winged . . . creatures. I wondered if the faeries that got sentenced to Hecate were kind of relieved. It had to be hard, doing that big of a spell all the time.

I paused to readjust my tote bag on my shoulder,

"At least this place is safe," Mom said. "That's something, right? I won't have to be constantly worrying about you for once."

I knew Mom was anxious about my being so far from home, but she was also happy to have me in a place where I wasn't risking getting found out. You spend all your time reading books about the various ways people have killed witches over the years; it's bound to make you a little paranoid.

As we made our way toward the school, I could feel sweat pooling up in weird places where I was pretty sure I had never sweat before. How can your _ears_ sweat? Mom, as usual, appeared unaffected by the humidity. It's like a natural law that my mother can never look anything less than obscenely beautiful. She was full Vietnamese that gave her a more exotic look, and even though she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, heads turned in her direction, and then at her chair. A person handy capped doesn't mean it's an open invitation to look all pitied.

Or maybe they were staring at me as I tried to discreetly wipe sweat from between my breasts without appearing o get to second base with myself. Hard to say.

All around me were things I'd only read about in books. To my left, a blue-haired faerie with indigo wings was sobbing as she clung o her winged parents, whose feet hovered an inch or two above the ground. As I watched, crystalline tears fell not from the girl's eyes, but from her wings, leaving her toes dangling over a puddle of royal blue. Ok . . .

We moved into the shade of the huge old trees-

Meaning the heat diminished by half a degree. Just as we neared the front steps, an unearthly howl echoed in the thick air.

Mom and I whirled around to see this . . . thing growling at two rather frustrated-looking adults. They didn't look scared; just vaguely annoyed.

A werewolf.

No matter how many times you read about werewolves, seeing one right in front of you is a whole new experience.

For one thing, it didn't really look much like a wolf. Or a person. It was more like a really big wild dog standing on hind legs. Its fur was short and dark auburn, and even from a distance I could see the yellow of its eyes. It was also a lot smaller than I'd thought one would be. In fact, it wasn't nearly as tall as the man it was growling at.

"Stop it, Garfield," the man spat. The woman, whose hair, I noticed, was the same dark auburn as the werewolf's, put a hand on his arm.

"Sweetie," she said in a soft voice with a hint of a Southern accent, "listen to your father. This is just silly."

For a second the werewolf, er, Garfield, paused, his head cocked to the side, making him look less like a throat-ripping-out beastie and more like a cocker spaniel.

The thought made me snort, trying to hold back laughter.

And suddenly those yellow eyes were on me. It gave another howl, and before I even had the time to think, it charged.

**Sorry for not writing sooner guys. There may be something's that you don't like about this chapter so please comment and tell me! More reviews the sooner I write so please…**

**-yoursexyandyouknowit15 **

**thanks guys! **


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